Shannon Smith!

Shannon,

I will truly miss you.

2010 Spring Series Schedule

Hey fella's, courtesy of BigDaveSports, here's a tentative Spring Series schedule.

March 28th Germantown Road Race
Apri 3rd,, Saturday Michell Memorial Forest- BigDaveSports
April 11th, Hueston Woods Team Hungry
April 18th, Vandervoorts Corner Team Dayton
April 25th, Spring Valley, Project Velo
May 2nd, Georgetown Road Race, BigDaveSports
May 8th, Saturday (Open)
May 16th, Bond Rd. BigDaveSports
May 23 St Leon Biowheels/BigDaveSports

Gun Club CX

Alternate title: Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights.

Sunday morning was cold, crisp, and sunny as I trundled two tired legs out to the Sycamore/Pheasant Hill Gun Club for round 9 of the OVCX series. For the past several weeks locals have had the chance to hold Wednesday practices on this course, so I knew it would be tough, muddy, and technical. I like the course, but am painfully aware that it doesn't suit my strengths, such as they are. (This, to me, is the paradox of cyclocross: CX racers relish exposing and testing their weaknesses in a masochistic adrenaline rush.) I also knew that in a couple places I might benefit from the home-court advantage -- especially on the wicked up-across-and-down hillside cut. Finally, I had this pie-in-the-sky hope that the suffering I had done the previous day had opened my legs up, and that I'd feel strong and ready to go for this race.

Ha.

But I get ahead of myself. I lined up with the rest of the 35+ and 45+ cat 4 men; my OVCX series position got me a nice front-row callup, right next to Butch, who was itching to race after a couple weeks off. I think I saw flecks of saliva on his lips, and he may have barked once or twice. A man fired a shotgun, and we were off. I tuck in behind Butch and Scot Hermann, and we make our way through the "easy" wooded section: a straightaway, then a soft right bend up into the woods, a steady uphill on dirt, left and then right around some bushes, and then a gently curving 180 that better riders -- like Butch and Scot -- took at speed without touching their brakes. At this point I had let a small gap open up, and my legs were tight and sore already. Uh-oh.

A long straightaway back to the finish line, over the pavement and into the sand. By now I'm fourth or fifth wheel, but doing okay. Out of the sand, 180 degrees on the grassy hill, and then the off-camber 180 back around a small tree. I screwed this turn up every lap, but never more so than on the first lap, when I slid out, unclipped my downhill foot, and stumbled to get going again. By this time Butch and Scot are gone with a number of other riders. Down the hillside and sweep left through some mud to the first barrier and runup. Around and down to the right through the bushes and then up to the second time through the sand. It was here that I knew I didn't have it today: it was slightly uphill, and pretty churned up, but should have been rideable (and was for many). I got three-quarters of the way through and just kind of keeled over when I didn't have the power to finish it off (2nd lap: tried to ride again, but dismounted 3/4 of the way through; 3rd lap: "ran" it). Get up, run the rest, hop on, and head for the wooded gravel stretch.

Pick up a little speed there, but scrub it at the end for the left hander into the muck. Pedal pedal washout pedal washout through a couple of twists, and then the out-and-back along the fenceline. About 3/4 of the way coming back the ground turned to mush, dismount, shoulder the bike, and slog along the fence to the righthand uphill turn. Slog up, find the footholes of others for traction, use the fence to make a tight 180-degree turn, and remount before getting too far down the hill. Sweep right (watch the rut) and set up for the left-and-right swoop leading up to the cut in the hill.

Here's the one place where I made up some ground during this race: dismount before the hill, shoulder the bike, and run up, across, and down as tight on the inside as possible. Many riders tried to ride the uphill and washed out, others ran the uphill and struggled to remount while crossing the hill, which was virtually impossible unless you could remount from the right (uphill) side of the bike. Set the bike downhill, remount, and use momentum to curve in a big rightward sweep back into the woods.

And here, in the wooded section, is where I gave up spots all day: grind uphill, then left, right, and left over some loose dirt, mud, and gravel. Okay there. Painful, but okay. Back further into the woods for a gentle downhill to the left turn creekside. Okay there -- I actually worked that turn out with a left-foot-down-and-take-it-tight technique. Then loop toward the steep little kicker that had been rideable in practice, but was a runup (at least for me and those I saw) in Sunday's mud. Remount, and then take the downhill righthand bend tight into the section of the course that made me ride like a clumsy donkey: a slippery little uphill where I kept losing traction and actually dismounted once or twice, a mushy lefthander that I took very gingerly, another tight mushy lefthander that came out of nowhere and kept going left left left, until it came back right and down to solid ground.

On the third lap in this section I was passed by the two leaders in the 45+ category; I was tired; I was cranky and a little puzzled by how poopy I felt, and I was in a lactic haze. I lost traction in one of the mushy lefthanders, dismounted, and actually ran along behind those two guys through this section until we headed to the righthand downhill. Mind you, it was relatively level here -- tight and twisty, but far from a running section of the course. But I was so dismayed at my lame-o handling skills that I chose to jog until I found safer ground. Part of me also thought, hey, we're in the woods, so it's not like anyone can see us. And then, to my horror, I heard the clipped British accent of our announcer describing the very duel for the lead of the 45+ race going on right in front of me. I almost stopped and left the course in mortification as it dawned on me: if he can see them, he can see me; and if he can see us, everyone over on the hill can see us. I kept waiting for him to say something like "and as these two duel it out for the lead of their category, some Darkhorse chap has forgotten how to ride his bike and is trudging along on foot behind them. That's a puzzling tactic, and not one you normally see in a cyclocross race." After all, he had earlier pointed out that I had dismounted "a little early" before the double barriers, so I knew he wasn't afraid to offer, um, constructive criticism. Mercifully, he refrained from commenting on my hike through the woods, or at least I didn't hear him.

Anyway, after the diabolic wooded section came a little passage through some trees, the "horseshoe" with Tony on the drums, the double barriers and a gravel downhill to the start line. Each lap concluded with the same "easy" wooded section that kicked off the race. Three laps, barely hold off Sparky at the finish, and be happy with 7th.

And I am -- happy with 7th, that is. At least, I can talk myself into being happy with it, even though it was disappointing to push the accelerator and have no response both days this past weekend. Sunday was, by my count, my 28th race in 2009, and while I've had significant stretches of not racing (mid-July to mid-September), that's more than double the number of races I've ever done in one year, and triple what I did last year. The smart part of my brain tells me to shut it down, to increase race and training loads more gradually year-to-year, to rest, recharge, and begin building a base for a bigger season next year.

This other part of my brain, though, I can't seem to shut up. It's whispering to me: Lexington -- come on, just one more ...

[pictures from Jeffrey Jakucyk]

Uncle Steve's Halloween CX

Ventured north on Saturday with the family for a big day of cyclocross, hanging out with friends, and trick-or-treating in the state capitol. We had rain all the way up 71, and my enthusiasm for a rainy, cold race waned with every drop. But (as the weatherheads promised), once we turned west toward Marysville, the skies cleared and it turned into a crisp, sunny, lovely autumn day.

With really muddy ground. Again.

Uncle Steve's, round 2 of the Cap City Cross series, was a different animal than the OVCX races: fewer racers, fewer races (3), more casual. Add in the Halloween celebration, and you had an atmosphere of general fun and good times.

Which was good, since we got a later start out of Cincinnati than I wanted, and we got a little lost on the way, so I was totally off my game by the time we arrived. Plus, after putting on my costume (Darkhorseman of the Apocalypse, of course), pinning my number on twice (to ensure visibility even with the cape), and riding my sole practice lap, I realized that the cape on the costume turned me into a windsock on a windy day, made remounts a blind leap of faith (and if there's anything in CX you don't want to be a blind leap of faith, it's the remount), and was destined to snag me on multiple tree branches and course stakes. So I made a quick switch into more typical raceday garb, which entailed re-pinning my number super-fast, and telling the organizers that I was forfeiting the half-price entry fee because I couldn't wear my costume because it wasn't safe but I had to race right now and I'd get them the $10 after my race. Which of course, I forgot. (Team Awesome, I owe you $10.) All of these things had me just frazzled enough that I forgot my helmet when I headed to the start line. Only the kindness of a competitor saved me from realizing this too late. Add in the fact that I was venturing into the B field (aka 3s, aka 45 minutes) for the first time, and I needed a fun, positive atmosphere around me.

We lined up, about 30 racers: costume callups to the front, everybody else behind, and we're off! I started back row left, and hit the first left turn pretty much near the back. The main field -- essentially a large back yard, now that I think about it -- was set up as a series of taped twists and turns: not really a pinwheel, but I imagine it had a similar effect for spectators. The first set of barriers was in here somewhere, and they were tough: the tape narrowed to make them at most two across, they were spaced awkwardly to disrupt running rhythm (mine, at least), and there was a righthand 180 afterward that made remounting before the turn too tricky for most to try. We rolled through a dirt trail in the woods, and turned up to a few taped switchbacks: up, and then down, and then up, and then down, and finally up again to the road, a muddy 180 next to the road, a long sloggy straightaway where, if you took the fastest line, you'd get whacked in the head by tree branches, up and over the driveway, and left down toward the pond and the technical stuff. Loop around a tree, drop down a muddy leftward stretch with water on the right, curve around the water and hit a steep little mudslide that I only ever managed to ride up once, and wished I hadn't (since it was slower that way), along a ridge and left back down into some swampy suff that was turning to peanut butter. Right again to a short RR-tie runup, and then back along the ridge to drop down left again. Short straightaway, right turn, and then 180 around a tree; left onto another straightaway, another 180 around a tree, and then a long swooping left toward the second, wider barriers. Remount, loop around a couple more trees, then up the hill, hairpin, and down through the finish line.

After the second lap, the official shouted "6 to go!" as I rode by; I had to fight the urge to get off and throttle him then and there. I thought better of it when I realized that my legs were such jello that I might not be able to walk. I think he took mercy, because by my count we only did 5 more, for a total of 7 laps.

This was racing in a paper bag, the course was so tight. And where it wasn't muddy and swampy, the ground was bumpy and rutted enough that I was never comfortable: at different points in the race I was sure I had pinch-flatted my rear tire and broken my seatpost. Just a tough tough course. At least, that's what I kept telling myself, even as I knew that I also just wasn't having a good day: my legs weren't responding, and they hurt when I tried to power over little rises and around tight corners. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one suffering: on the last lap I rode back up to a rider who had passed me earlier in the race. Coming up the last rise and around the final hairpin into the finishing stretch, I caught him, and then gunned it a little to pass him in the stretch. He wasn't happy about someone "sprinting for 14th place," and let me know. I smiled and said "It's racing, man -- come on!" I don't think he was persuaded.

Looking back over this race report, it might seem like I didn't have a good time, but that's just not true: my family was there with cowbells, our Columbus hosts were there for their first-ever cyclocross race, and the Farmers were out there giving me extra cheers. Mark even told me that his grandmother would beat me, which really inspired me to ride harder. With the tight course, they could all pretty much stand in once place and holler for me five and six different times per lap. It was like having an entourage, and I loved it. I wish I could've raced better, but I loved it. And at least once per lap, the announcer would exhort the crowd to have more beer. And the Jeni's guy who raced in a diaper got his costume stuck in his rear brake on the second lap and raced the rest of the day in his tiny red tighties. I beat the cheerleader (I think), but got beat by the wizard, the skeleton, and several zombies, which is okay, since they probably ate the brains of anyone who beat them. The Mormon missionaries were drinking Miller High Life, and my remount is getting smoother and faster, although I'm still losing time getting clipped back in.

In short, I'm keeping this one on next year's schedule, and I'm already looking for the right costume: scuba diver, maybe?

Happy Birthday Brett!

Brett,

I wanted to wish you a happy birthday and to tell you that you are an excellent team mate and great human being! I am proud to call you my friend.

Lungbuster CX - Mayberry, MI

So, Nate and I didn't think we'd get much competition if we headed south to the USGP's so we went 5 hours North to the little town of Mayberry, MI.  I had a family reunion in norther Ohio, so it worked out.

It is interesting to head to a race where you do not know a single other racer there...  feel like a real Darkhorse (pun intended).  Anyways, Nate lined up w/ 30+ other riders and got a great start and settled into 6th place for most of the race.  A ferocious battle of man vs chain ensued, and he ended up loosing several spots on the last lap due to some untimely mechanical to finish 12th.

I lined up w/ 22 other B racers and headed into the sigletrack 6th.  There was lots of singletrack, and MTB's at this race.  I moved into 5th on the first lap and took a bike so that Nate could untangle the weed that had engulfed my cassette.  Pit bike worked great and I kept 4th place in sight, hoping to make a move on the last lap.  The 4th place rider ended up having some problems, and I caught him early in the last lap.  I waited and waited till the last real straight heading into a single high speed barrier before sprinting around, taking a very hot dismount and remount, got a mall gap and kept it for 4th.  Great little road trip w/ family and friends there to enjoy it with.

-tinny out

USGP of Cyclocross Derby City Cup Day 2

Day two of the USGP included a few changes to the layout of the course: most notably, the demons in charge had used the runoff from the cleaning area to create a new obstacle on the backside: a large mudpuddle curving around the hill to yet another runup of RR ties. The conditions were also significantly different: it was colder (cold enough that after my pre-ride of the course my fingers hurt enough to throw a couple chemical warmers into my gloves), and yesterday's slick, sloppy mud had turned to a thick peanut butter that was significantly faster along the straightaways and that had created little berms in the corners -- if you caught them correctly, you could actually hold some real speed through them. Otherwise, they were just there to knock you over.


I lined up mid-pack again, on the right side of the field, with one guy between me and the barricade. Moments before the whistle, I noted that the guy on my left had his left foot up on the pedal, whereas I and the guy on my right had our right feet up. Now the tendency when you slam your top foot down in a start is to drift a little to the opposite side of that top foot. That meant the guy to my left and the guy to my right could both be angling toward me at the start, narrowing my window of forward progress.


But that wouldn't happen, right?


Nah. Worse. Three-Stooges worse. The whistle goes, the guy to my left moves in front of me and my bars hook into his. The guy to my right bumps shoulders with me as he drifts left, and my bars hook into his. The bump into me knocks him back toward the barricade, and the other side of his handlebars hook into the barricade. For a moment (as the rest of the field pedals by), the three of us are locked together, and then the guy on my left takes off (after all, he had nothing impeding his forward momentum, since I was hooked behind his bar). By the time I got untangled from the other guy, the pack was almost to the turn onto the grass. (I should mention here that the whole comedy sketch was amazingly polite, given the possibilities for frustrated outbursts and obscenities: "Sorry -- Here --" "No -- My bad..." "Okay, got it -- good luck!").


So not only am I starting 100th of 100+ riders, I've given them all a 200-meter headstart. I sprint and catch the tail end of the pack right before the turn onto grass, and come across two riders sprawled across the course. Slow down, go around, accelerate to the next left, where I avoid another downed rider and head toward the money pit. More carnage, riders sprawled left and middle -- dismount and run around right (oooh, that mud is cold!), remount, and then try to settle into a routine of passing riders, moving up, keeping my cool. At least one guy asked "what are you doing back here?" I chose to take it as a compliment.


After Saturday I had spent a lot of time thinking about how I could improve in Sunday's race, and here before I even got off the start line all those thoughts had been thrown out the window, at least in terms of overall placing. There was no way I'd see the front of the pack again -- or even the back end of the front -- and for a second I was kinda bummed and pretty frustrated. Then I took a deep breath ...


... And had a great time. I moved up throughout the first lap, and came across the finish line to discover that they were shortenning our race to 3 laps today instead of 4. "Two to go?!" I hollered to the officials. "Really?!" "Yep." For the first time ever, I was a little bummed that my race wasn't going to be longer -- I was moving up on every lap, getting the feel of the course, the cold and wet weren't cold anymore, and I felt pretty darn good. So for the final two laps I held myself closer to the redline, pushed when I might've let up in a one-lap-longer race, and tried to make the most of it. I took too tight a line in one corner, ended up in the brush, and dropped my chain again, but today it seemed like a minor inconvenience. Dug cheeered me on when I finally caught him, I heard others out on the course cheering me on, and at one point my heart lit up when I heard Carole and Mairin hollerin' for me. Eamon was ringin' the cowbell.


I rolled across the line tired and smiling, figuring I might have broken the top-50, and maybe squeaked into the 30s. Cleaned off the bike, changed, and was more than a little pleased to see my name next to #28.


A great weekend of racing, socializing, and spectating. The USGP and Louisville really put on a show with this event, and combined with the emergence of the UCI3 weekend in Cincinnati, the Ohio River Valley region is becoming a real heavyweight in the national CX scene. That's a Very Good Thing. (third photo courtesy of Ben Wilson.)